


Renewed Purpose

by Name_Pending



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Jon reunites with Ghost, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 04:56:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19144009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Name_Pending/pseuds/Name_Pending
Summary: Jon Snow arrives at Castle Black from the South for the last time.His accusers intended this to be a punishment, but in a way this is a homecoming.





	Renewed Purpose

The Wall does not inspire the same kind of awe it did the first time he saw it.

It’s the first thought that runs through his head, that this towering structure of ice that once made his jaw drop in wonder has become so familiar that when he sees it again, it feels more like a homecoming than a new beginning.

The day is clearer than the first time he approached the Wall from the south like this and it should have made it all the more powerful to witness, but Jon Snow has lived there for enough of his life that it’s stopped having any impact on him. The Wall is a myth and a waste and a wonder to the Kingdoms beyond, but to an old Brother of the Watch, it’s just home again.

The men accompanying him let him be as soon as he’s inside the gates of Castle Black, and he would take a moment to look around the old place that holds so many memories for him - the best and the worst in some ways - but he can’t even see the crumbling castle around him. His eyes are drawn to the one person who stands tall to greet him from the railings, the one person whose face he knows instantly.

Tormund doesn’t look happy to see him, but he’s glad he’s here. It’s something Jon understands without saying a word to the wildling. Tormund takes one look at his defeated expression and knows that something terrible has happened, but he doesn’t say a word about it. He merely holds Jon’s gaze while he walks straight up to him and hugs him hard, and if it weren’t for the judging eyes of the men who brought him here Jon might have crumbled in that moment.

Where men can see him, Jon slaps Tormund’s back in a friendly, nearly brotherly, gesture; on the inside he’s screaming and Tormund doesn't need him to say anything to know that.

Tormund lets him walk through the tiny horde that arrived at the castle before him, and they part like timid animals as walks through, his neck aching with the effort of holding his head high, trying to appear as unashamed as he tries to tell himself he should feel.

It takes his oldest friend here before he manages a somewhat genuine smile. Not any wildling, though he can feel them all watching him, feels Tormund holding himself back from guiding him inside where they can talk without an audience. No, it’s the high whine of his most loyal friend that makes his lips twitch, and Jon reaches out for Ghost with a smile on his face and tears in his eyes.

Despite the almost normalcy of it, there’s something so comfortable about his fingers running through the direwolf’s white fur that it makes all this hurt just that little bit less. No matter what everyone else in the Seven Kingdoms - _Six_ Kingdoms - might think, this is where he is most comfortable. Riding on the back of a dragon is humbling and heart wrenching and phenomenal, but this is _home_. The first tears that Jon lets slip at Castle Black since his return take mere minutes to appear but Ghost licks them away before anyone can see them.

The others depart quickly. Jon is a spectacle to them but he’s so defeated that he doesn’t hold their interest long. They were probably expecting something like the Targaryens of legend or the Starks of songs, but he’s just Jon Snow, and no self-respecting wildling is impressed by a man and his direwolf, not any more.

He’s glad of that; it means that within a few minutes of his arrival he is ushered into Tormund’s private chambers, the door clicking shut behind the two of them with only Ghost for company.

Jon has never once been glad to be summoned to what used to be Ser Alliser Thorne’s dwelling, but it’s not his any longer and although the room looks exactly the same the presence in the room is so _Tormund_ that it’s comforting. Later Jon may spare a thought for why Tormund chose this room, but for now he watches Ghost loll lazily on the bed and his eyes burn at the thought that both he and Tormund are comfortable here.

Jon prays to the Old Gods that one day he can be half as comfortable here once again as the two of them appear to be in this moment.

Tormund stands silently with folded arms while Jon sits on the bed beside his wolf and strokes Ghost’s fur. He is more than just a pet to Jon, and Tormund might have been the only person who understood what Jon was giving up when he asked him to take the wolf north while Jon himself went south with the dragon queen.

Despite his boasts and bravado while drunk, Tormund is perhaps the only person who knows how much more Jon Snow prefers his wolf to the dragon who was never really his. Rhaegal was wonderful and Jon loved flying, but the dragon was not comforting and familiar and _safe_ the way this battered direwolf is.

Tormund sits next to him after some time, and it’s only then that Jon realises that both the wildling and the wolf are watching him with wide, concerned eyes, and that it’s probably warranted because there are tears streaming down his face and he has to force his fingers to unclench before he tangles and pulls Ghost’s fur.

“Why are you here?”

Those are the first words Tormund’s said to him, and they’re the only ones that matter, and they break Jon apart like nothing else could.

Jon would like to be able to say that he sobs or gasps, but the sound he makes is far worse than that - it’s a loud, keening wail that comes from somewhere so deep inside that he could never make such a noise on purpose, and it tapers off into a scream as he realises that the horrific noise in his ears is coming from _him_.

The sound, once he realises what he’s doing, is so terrible that it stuns him into silence once it ends, and although his chest is heaving and he can’t breathe, he doesn’t make a sound. Ghost whines and moves to nudge his nose against Jon’s chest, but the soothing gesture just makes it worse. He doesn’t deserve the comfort the wolf brings, and if he had his wits about him he might have pushed the poor creature away, but he doesn’t, and when Ghost rests his head on Jon’s lap he can't bear to shove him off.

It takes so long for him to remember how to breathe that his vision has gone vaguely black at the edges by the time he realises that Tormund’s arms are around him and he’s no longer sitting upright, but is curled against the wildling’s chest like a child.

There was a time when he had enough pride, even when he had been nothing more than the Bastard of Winterfell, that he would have never allowed this, would never had been seen to be so weak. But he isn’t the Bastard of Winterfell any more. He is Aegon Targaryen and Jon Snow and that sounds impossible but it’s the truth, and he’s _tired_.

Tormund doesn’t push him to talk, doesn’t demand answers. He holds Jon to him like he’s something worth caring for and lets him cry, the only sound in the room the sobbing and Ghost’s soft snuffling.

It takes a long time before Jon’s tears run out. He refused to cry in the cell in King’s Landing but now he’s here and whether he likes or not this is home, and it’s enough. Weeks worth of tears of grief and regret and anger fall onto Tormund’s chest while his fingers grip the wolf’s fur.

When his eyes are finally dry, he makes no move to shift away; he’s ashamed, of course, but then he’s used to that by now. Shame has been his constant companion for weeks, the only familiar thing to accompany him on his journey back to the Wall. Ghost’s head raises to nuzzle at his damp face and dry away the lingering moisture before returning to his lap, though, and Jon’s grateful for that.

Tormund lets him have a few moments to collect himself before he asks again, “why are you here?”

This time he finds he can answer. “I didn’t have a choice.”

Tomund doesn’t reply, and Jon is somehow surprised that there is anyone left in this world that can trust him so completely that he will just accept that answer without demanding more information. In fact, the way that Tormund doesn’t ask him to elaborate is probably the only reason he does.

He tells him everything. It takes a long time, long enough that it is nearly dark and he can barely see in this room without a lit candle by the time Jon’s finished his story.

He tells Tormund about what happened in King’s Landing, about their victory and how it was so quickly soured by the dragon fire that destroyed the defeated city. He tells him about Arya’s warnings and Tyrion’s plea and Daenerys' threats. He tells him about his last kiss with the woman he had loved, and then how the life drained out of her eyes while she crumpled in his arms. He tells him about the moment he was sure he was going to be burned to death by a vengeful dragon and how he spent weeks in a cell because he couldn’t bring himself to lie about what he had done. He tells Tormund that he is alive because of the mercy of his sisters, that he is exiled here while Arya lives the adventures she has always dreamed of and Sansa and Bran sit their thrones.

By the time he is done talking his throat is sore and his mouth is dry.

He thinks he has told Tormund everything until the wildling asks him a question, sounding interested and confused.

“Why were you such a threat to the dragon queen?”

Jon’s eyes close where his face is still pressed into the wildling’s chest. “I was a threat because of my blood.”

“Why was she afraid of a bastard’s blood?”

The question is honest, not intended to offend, and makes Jon smile.

“Because I don’t have bastard’s blood.” He sits up, putting a little distance between them, and forces himself to meet Tormund’s eyes, though it’s so dark in the room now that he’s not sure he’s succeeding. “You remember I told you once that I didn’t know who my mother is? I found out. My mother was a Stark and my father was a Targaryen, and they were married.”

“So you’re not a bastard?”

“No.” Jon debates whether or not he wants to keep the next part to himself, but he finds he doesn't want to. “Ned Stark gave me the name Snow to protect me. My mother gave me a different name. Aegon Targaryen.”

“So you could’ve had the iron chair if you wanted it.”

“And Daenerys knew it.”

There’s a silence after the tale is told and Jon’s grateful for it.

Jon nudges Ghost’s head off his lap, stroking the wolf’s muzzle gently for a moment, and rises to light a few candles. He doesn't really mind the darkness but it’s starting to strain his eyes and he knows they’re not done yet. When the room is lit up enough that he can see Tormund relatively clearly he sits back down next to him, trying to tell from the blank expression what the wildling is thinking and coming up with nothing.

They don’t speak for a while, until Ghost rolls off the bed and settles at their feet, seemingly content to sleep there. The movement distracts Tormund enough that he comes out of his thoughts and seems to remember that Jon is still here and waiting for him to say something.

“You didn’t want it.” It’s not a question. “But you could have been king.”

“I never wanted to be king. She was my queen. I wanted her to take the throne, until she...”

Tormund knows him well enough to know that they need to change the subject away from Daenerys Targaryen or he’s going to shut himself down and leave. “Do you want me to call you Aegon?”

“No.”

“You sure? Your mother gave you that name.”

“It’s not who I am.” Jon focuses on the wolf at his feet while he speaks, but he subconsciously shifts closer to the wildling while he does. “It’s just a reminder of what I’m not. I’m glad I know my mother’s name. I really am. But I’ve always been Jon Snow. I don’t want to be a Targaryen.”

Tormund just nods, and his easy acceptance of Jon’s preference for the name he’s always had is a huge relief. He’s grown uncomfortably used to people trying to use his Targaryen blood to state he has a claim to a throne he never wanted that no longer exists, and it’s nice to finally have someone understand that his name doesn’t matter, because he is Jon Snow and that’s the end of it.

“Don’t tell the others” Jon asks quietly, a request just shy of a plea. “I don’t want them to know.”

“Alright.”

Again, that instant acceptance. Even knowing everything he has done, what he is capable of, Tormund still trusts his judgement. Jon thought he had no tears left, but his eyes burn with the promise that he’s wrong.

Tormund reaches out and turns Jon to face him with one hand on his shoulder, waiting until Jon meets his gaze to speak.

“You didn’t have a choice. You did the right thing, Jon.”

Jon doesn’t have an answer for that - he did and he didn’t, and the fact that he has been sent here is proof enough that nobody can come to an agreement over this.

“So you’re stuck here with us for good then.”

A laugh of surprise escapes Jon, and he loves Tormund for being able to switch topics so quickly that it catches him completely off guard and makes him laugh for the first time in weeks. “I suppose so.”

“Well, I should probably tell you that we’re not staying. We’re headed north.”

“The true North.”

“Aye.”

Jon’s voice is smaller than he’d like it to be when he asks, “when are you leaving?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“If you’re coming with us.”

The offer perhaps shouldn’t have surprised him but it does. The second he thinks about it, Jon realises that he desperately wants to take Tormund up on the offer, and it only takes a second more to realise that he can’t.

“I’ve been sentenced to serve in the Night’s Watch. My place is here.”

“So what? Fuck the Night’s Watch. There’s nothing out there you need to watch out for. The walkers are gone and we’re not going to be raiding anything, so you crows don’t need to keep eyes north any more.”

“It doesn’t matter, Tormund. I don’t get to choose.”

“Why the hell not? If you don’t get to choose, then come north with us and be _free_. That way no southern king can tell you what you get to choose and what you don’t.”

Being free. Jon had been nearly free once, in those moments with Ygritte when he’d fleetingly considered never returning to the Watch, before he remembered his duty. He’d chosen duty over love then and he had done it again in King’s Landing.

Maybe it’s this realisation that sways him, or maybe it’s Tormund’s defiant stare, but something in him snaps at that moment. He has given everything for his damned duty, and all he has to show for it is being back here where he started with a secret name and terrible memories. His sisters are safe and Bran is alive, and up here he can’t protect them. He hasn’t retaken his vows, and he doesn’t have to, not if he chooses to go beyond the Wall.

Jon decides in that moment to do something for himself for once, and nods at Tormund, a silent acknowledgement that the wildling’s right. He’s done with duty and so far love hasn’t worked out for him, but he can choose freedom.

“When do _we_ leave?”

“You tell me” Tormund shrugs. He sighs at Jon’s confused frown before explaining, “that lot, out there? There’s no way they’re gonna follow me while you’re around. They still think you’re some sort of god. And I know you’re not, but you’re a good leader. You’d be a good king.”

“I told you, I don’t want to be king!” Jon snaps.

“King of the southern kingdoms, maybe. But how about being a king beyond the wall?”

The King Beyond The Wall is not a new concept; Jon knew that back when Mance Rayder held the title. He’s not sure he wants it, though.

“I don’t think the free folk need a king now.”

“No, we don’t. But it’s nice to have one. We used to be hundreds of clans, and now we’re just survivors. Might be nice to have a king to keep us all from going back to killing each other. One that doesn't expect us to kneel.”

Jon has to give Tormund that, he’s right about the different between the kings south and north of the Wall. Everyone kneels to their king south of the wall but the wildlings don’t kneel to anyone, not even their chosen king. Maybe it won’t be so bad, being the sort of king that only gets to be king if he does a good enough job to keep the title, one that the others don’t kneel to. Maybe one day he can inspire the sort of respect that Mance Rayder did, or a fraction enough of it that he doesn’t hate himself so much any more.

“If they all agree.”

“They will.”

 

/

 

It’s three days later that Jon leads his people, the free folk, out of Castle Black for the last time. This time he leads them north, back to the realms beyond the Wall, with Tormund at his side. The wildlings had cheered the idea of Jon Snow as the new King Beyond The Wall, but he knows that they like him having Tormund at his side; Tormund has always been one of them and Jon has only recently become that and he will keep him right. Jon is grateful to have him.

Jon feels guilty about leaving Castle Black behind. Eventually someone in the south, probably Sansa, will realise that he does not return any messages the ravens carry to the Wall and will send someone to find out why. He has left a letter in the Lord Commander’s chambers to explain that he has gone north and will not be coming back, and he hopes that someone will find it and carry the message to Sansa and Bran, and to Arya if they can find her.

He admits to himself that his decision to leave it all behind has been swayed by the fact that Arya has gone to the far West and will likely not come back. If she had been sure to visit he would have had to stay there to wait on his closest sibling, but Arya has grown up and she’s not the little girl who needed him so much any more. She has gone west and he will go north, while their siblings rule Westeros between them, and although their loss pains him he respects their decisions and is grateful for his life which they have given back to him.

Going to the true North, choosing freedom and the free folk, feels like something Jon Snow would do, not something Aegon Targaryen would do, and that’s enough to make him sure he’s making the right choice.

Jon Snow, King of the Free Folk, leads his people home, with Tormund Giantsbane at his side and Ghost trotting alongside his horse, and for the first time in weeks, he has hope.


End file.
